


Statistically Improbable

by InvisableDandy



Category: Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, I actually have a beta reader for this one, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Transformers Spark Bonds, maybe eventual NSFW I haven't decided yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisableDandy/pseuds/InvisableDandy
Summary: Any mechanism who had met them could tell you Prowl and Jazz were incompatible. They were two very different mechs after all. The arguments the two had were infamous among the Autobot ranks and rumor had it they had never been on good terms. Prowl himself could tell you as much.The odds of them ever getting along were statistically improbable.Hence no one could have ever guessed that their relationship may evolve far past those expectations.
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl, Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 36
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue: a twisting of fates

**Author's Note:**

> [UPDATE] ok I know it takes a while for me to get chapters out but I am gonna try to get the next one all prettied up and posted by the end of the week :) keep an eye out. 
> 
> Hello- This is only my second fic ever (the other one is not yet abandoned I promise) so go a little easy on me. I actually have a Beta reader this time but if you see something don't hesitate to let me know! Speaking of: Shout out to my two beta readers because they are awesome and I wouldn't have as much confidence posting this without them! This fic does not have a posting schedule and I am a busy and undermotivated college student so please don't harass me if it takes a while to put out updates. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy what I have to offer.
> 
> I will be adding a quick glossary here but subsequent chapters will have the glossary at the end.  
> Breem - 8.3 minutes  
> Joor- basically it's a cybertronian hour  
> Deca-cycle - ten days  
> Vorn - 83 years  
> Solar cycle/light cycle - day  
> Peds-feet  
> Servos-hands  
> let me know if theres anything that needs to be added.

It all began with the destruction of Praxus. Prowl could still feel the ash in the joints of his servos as he dug desperately through the debris for survivors. Remember vividly the ache in his processor after deca-cycles of organizing search parties on little recharge. The broken frames of the deceased and the hollow expressions on those who still functioned as they aimlessly roamed the devastation. 

It was the last time anyone could remember seeing the former enforcer lose his composure.

Now those who knew him by reputation alone called him sparkless. Walking analytics. A drone. 

He had been away when Praxus was wiped from the face of Cybertron—called in to Polyhex to assist the enforcers there as the civil unrest began to rise. Kaon had been the first to fall into a Decepticon-run city state. As it stood, Iacon had seemed the obvious choice for the leading city of the Autobots. Praxus, and therefore Prowl, had been completely neutral in the face of the growing divide between factions. And then, just like that—

It was gone. 

Life as Prowl knew it changed after that. No longer was he a neutral enforcer of the city of Praxus, loyal to its citizens with a duty to serve and protect. Now he was broken, angry, spiteful. 

_Guilty._

There were few survivors of Praxus. Of those who remained, they were divided; some chose to stay neutral in the face of their city’s destruction while others joined the Autobots in hopes of preventing any similar atrocities from occurring in the future. Prowl, of course, was part of the latter group. With his training and tactical neural-net, it was the obvious choice. Perhaps he himself felt it was the only choice if he was to atone for failing to protect those he had sworn himself to, no matter how illogical that line of thinking was. No. Now he refused to let those under him die again if he could help it. He couldn't save everyone, but Primus help him, he would try. 

That had been a long time ago, however. 

Prowl was brought back to reality by a ping for entry to his office, only then realizing he had been staring at his terminal for nearly a breem. He shook his helm, straightening himself as he readjusted his doorwings to an authoritative yet neutral position. He was the head of the tactical division in Iacon, although more often than not he felt like an overpaid secretary. 

With a press of a button he called for the visitor to come in, his face completely neutral as the door slid open. His gaze fell on Smokescreen, the other Praxian looking weary as always. Prowl often wondered if his second got enough recharge. He didn’t pry into Smokescreen’s private life so long as it didn't affect his work and thus far it hadn’t. That being said, he would admit that he was concerned for the mech sometimes. 

"Prowl," Smokescreen greeted with a nod as he stepped into the room with a stack of datapads. 

"Smokescreen," he greeted in return. The other Praxian gave a tired smile as he set the datapads before Prowl, moving slowly as he flexed his door wings. 

"Hate to add to your workload today, since I know you have to chaperone that tour for the new intel officer later," Smokescreen spoke, "but I was hoping you could find time to go through some of these transfer requests? There's an unusual case in here that I would like your professional opinion on." 

Prowl was hardly inconvenienced. He had just about finished his work for the day anyway and anything to keep him busy right now was a blessing. He knew why he had been chosen to lead the tour later this cycle, but to say he dreaded the encounter was an understatement. He looked at the datapads that had been placed on his desk before reaching for them. 

“I can take it over from here. Which case is the unusual one?”

“Ah, well, it's sort of like two cases really—you’ll find it in the second set of transfers. You’ll know it when you see it,” Smokescreen replied while pointing to the part of the stack it would roughly be in. The red and blue Praxian then stood to take his leave, but Prowl noticed the slump of his doorwings as he turned towards the door. His second hadn't even seemed to notice that he wasn't holding them at attention any more. 

“And Smokescreen,” he called before the other mech made it out the door. Smokescreen looked back at him with a look Prowl would hazard to guess was concern. 

“Yes?” he asked almost sheepishly, his usual mask slipping back over his features. 

“Take the rest of the cycle off. I don't need a second who's barely on his peds. Get some recharge. I’ll redistribute whatever tasks you have left today and see you first thing in the morning.” The words were spoken in a detached monotone and Prowl hadn't even looked up from the datapad he was holding when he had delivered them. That didn't stop him from noticing Smokescreens expression morph from disbelief to an almost genuine smile, however. The other Praxian saw through the cold dismissal for what it was. Prowl was worried about him. 

“Yes, sir.” Smokescreen said and with a brief dip of his doorwings before slipping out the door. 

Alone once more, Prowl looked at the door for a few more clicks before turning back to the datapads before him. Anything to distract him from thinking about the upcoming tour. He was dreading not only the extra company, but that the tour would extend his shift by another joor at least. That being said, he was curious about what case could have stumped his second, which was an easy enough thing to focus on for now. Smokescreen was usually better than Prowl at assessing incoming mechs, given his psychiatric background. That must mean it's a situational issue, he thought. He considered just digging through the stack to find the cases Smokescreen was talking about but ultimately decided against it. It would be much more efficient to work his way through the datapads and solve the conundrum when he got to it. 

______________

The tactician sat in near silence, only broken by the light tapping of his stylus against yet another datapad. His processor reviewed its contents methodically before setting it to the side and pulling another from the slowly diminishing stack. If one were to look at him, most mechs would probably find his uncanny stillness and silence disturbing. Even the light, swift movements of his stylus against his current datapad were stiff, efficient motions. 

Prowl had been at it for the better part of a joor now and was very much immersed in a rhythm. As he read over the current datapad, he finally knew what Smokescreen had been talking about. This was something of a special case. The way Smokescreen had described it as being more like two cases made sense now. Twins. Not only twins, but frontliners with a less than clean track record—and to top it all off they were Kaonites. But this was not what had struck him the most. No, it was the fact that they were currently housed in separate bases. Prowl’s optics narrowed. He pulled up their files on his terminal. The system flagged them immediately as he found that the two of them each had a long list of offences, both minor and major, and a few even bordering on grounds for discharge. Especially from the one designated “Sunstreaker.” As Prowl kept reading he found that they’d had more transfers than almost any other recruits he’d ever seen. He checked their transfer history and couldn't help the irritated V his wings had slipped into. To say he was displeased to find that they had not been on the same base in quite some time was an understatement. 

Prowl sat back in his less-than-comfortable chair and stared at the ceiling of his office as he mulled over the information he had been presented. Twins were not a common occurrence. Some mechs even had a hard time grasping that twins had an inherently platonic sparkbond. Given that they are two parts of the same spark, you would think it was obvious that they shared a connection much like a bonded pair would, being able to communicate at short distances in much the same manner.

Prowl himself had only ever met one set of twins; their faces were blurry in his memories but their voices rang in his audials. He didn't dare remember their designations. Two Praxian delinquents had spent no more than a few joors in his office back when he had been an enforcer. They’d had pretty sticky servos for their age and on one occasion they got more than they bargained for, landing them in the holding cells for a cycle. That had been how he’d discovered that twins didn't take well to being separated. By the time someone had called Prowl in, he had found one of them spitting just about every offensive glyph in the language at one of his younger enforcers. When questioned, she had demanded that she and her sister be put in the same cell, the words spoken with more venom then he'd heard even most adult mechs use. He had promptly reunited them.

Because of that case, Prowl had read up on twins—what little medical and scientific knowledge there was to be had, anyway. As many mysteries about twins as there were, one thing always stood out: separating them made them unpredictable. To think that the Autobots were intentionally keeping these two apart made his spark uneasy. If he approved these transfers then they would just be sent to two separate bases yet again. Iacon didn't exactly need frontliners at the moment, but an idea did strike him. He could make an executive decision to override the transfers and bring them both to Iacon until he found a better deployment for them. Smokescreen’s concern now made much more sense as well. He had studied psychology before the war. He understood, at least partly, why it was wrong and had sought the opinion of someone with more authority on the matter. 

Without much preamble, Prowl overrode the system and began to rewrite the transfer forms before also starting to compose a formal complaint. Someone had to think about the ethics every once in a while and they would hear from him if no one else. It appeared their transfer quarters were different, unfortunately, meaning “Sideswipe” would get to Iacon first. Prowl only hoped he didn't prove so much of a pain in the aft that he would have to ship the frontliner off before his brother made it there. Only time would tell. 

By the time Prowl was finished formalizing the transfers and finishing off the rest of the stack, it was just about time to greet their guest. He had never met the Polyhexian personally but he knew enough about him. The dread stemmed from the knowledge that he was notorious for his breaking of protocol as well as his unconventional paperwork. He had proven to be a recipe for a processor ache already with his transfer, and that wasn't even including the warning Red Alert had sent Prowl personally. Red Alert had gripes with everyone, but even so, he had yet to steer Prowl wrong. With consideration, Prowl had pulled the files for a clearer picture.

The mech had a small record before the war which was not uncommon for sparked musicians, mostly noise complaints and general public offenses. His introduction into the Autobots had been somewhat unconventional, which had been a surprise, but that altogether was not entirely out of the ordinary. That he had been friends with the archivist who was now Prime was far more unexpected, to say the least... Prowl only hoped there hadn't been any favoritism involved. His official Autobot record was missing pieces, which would have rubbed him the wrong way if there hadn't already been a fair amount of warnings cited for various other conduct issues. Prowl liked to think he ran a rather tight ship and the introduction of mechs who played by their own rules didn't sit well with him. Especially those who so closely matched him in rank. 

Prowl glanced out the window into Iacon and vented, letting his doorwings sag just ever so slightly. As the cycle wound down the orange of the sky reflected off the towering spires, casting the city below in a warm glow. The usually crowded streets saw less commuters at this joor, making it almost seem peaceful down below. He worried that perhaps he was being unfair. It was easy to form opinions of others before meeting them—plenty had done so to him before due to his own reputation. If he allowed himself to fall into those same traps, he supposed that would make him a hypocrite. With another long exvent he stood from his desk and, with slow, calculated steps, made his way into the long corridors of Iacon Central Command. Even as he walked, each step echoing in the empty halls, his tactical network fussed over the present concerns. When he stepped up to the transport bay, he resolved to let the mech's character speak louder than the information he had collected. Who knows, perhaps the other mech would surprise him.

Prowl stood tall, his wings set high as he watched the transport arrive. The orange sky had settled into a deep auburn as the first of Cybertron's moons became visible on the horizon. The light glinting off the transport shifted as it curved into the bay, slowing to a stop almost silently. With little time to waste, the doors slid open, revealing to Prowl the mech who had plagued his thoughts for the better half of a deca-cycle.The mech's frame type was common to Polyhex, but rather than the usual colorful paint jobs common to that prefecture, his quite resembled Prowl’s own. The mech before him was mainly black and white with the only real touch of color being the blue and red strip that adorned the front of his chassis. He wore a friendly smile as he stepped out, casually sauntering up to Prowl with a willful disregard for standard procedure.

"Nice to meet ya!" He spoke with a large grin and a glint to his vibrant blue visor. His EM field was friendly, if muted, but all the same he held out a servo to Prowl.

"The name’s Jazz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the prologue to my new fic! Please leave comments and kudos if you like my work as it helps keep me motivated to keep working. The next chapter is where our story really begins.


	2. Reintroduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, last night I turned in my midterm 15 minutes before it was due and I've been working myself into the ground for the last 4 weeks which is pretty standard fare in my life. I apologize for the inconsistency. Anyway, I'm pretty proud of this chapter and hope ya'll like it. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.

Location: Shuttle 12, enroute to the Ark.

The first time Jazz and Prowl met had been a miserable disaster. From the moment he’d introduced himself, the cold mech seemed to have a problem with him. Now that wasn't exactly uncommon for mechs he worked with, but Prowl took issue with almost everything he did. There could have been any number of reasons for all Jazz cared, but their working relationship in those first few cycles had been even worse than the time he’d spent working with Red Alert (which was saying something). It had been a constant administrative war from the second Jazz set peds in Iacon. Every datapad and form Jazz sent off for archiving would find itself back on his desk within the deca-cycle, each time with increasingly passive aggressive comments attached, always pointing out missing information or signatures or other things that Jazz considered to be insignificant details. He would be the first to admit he was not a paperwork kind of mech, but up until that point it had never been much more than an inconvenience. In Iacon, it might as well have been Unicron himself spitting in Jazz’s energon. Needless to say, he transferred out of there as soon as he was able. 

Granted no one else had been able to stay much longer after that either. Someone had told Jazz later that Prowl himself, along with several others, had been moved to the front line not even a few deca-cycles after his departure. 

Now not only would Jazz have to see the cold mech once again but answer to him the moment he stepped onto the Ark as well. The ruthless Praxian had become the lead tactician on the Ark with that processor of his, now second in command to Optimus Prime himself. How OP could tolerate such a hard-aft was a mystery to Jazz, though his old friend had always displayed more patience than was strictly reasonable. 

Jazz was already planning his next mission off of the Ark as soon as he could get it cleared with Leadfoot, the head of spec ops. There had to be something he could go after near the Ark’s trajectory. He just needed something to keep him busy for a while. The gruff old mech may not have liked Jazz much, but he was usually willing to bend the rules for the younger saboteur given how high on the food chain he was. That Jazz had been called to the flagship at all had caught him off guard. He usually jumped from base to base, whichever was closest to his current mission. He never stayed in one place for very long, much less the Ark, of which he’d spent the least amount of time on. He couldn't say he much liked being there, either. Given the ship's constant motion, it was a difficult place to get on and off of—which, of course, was the point. That he would be stuck there for at least a deca-cycle was a given. It was a smart strategy for evading cons, but inconvenient to just about everyone else. 

All that being said, Jazz may not have been looking forward to his stay, but he supposed it would be nice to see Optimus for more than a joor at the very least. Even if his old friend had changed somewhat in the vorns since leaving Iacon behind. 

\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---

As he felt the shuttle begin its dock sequence into the Ark’s shuttle bay, Jazz glanced out the window to see the sleek silhouette of a certain black and white Praxian standing at the boarding zone. His doorwings were canted upward and his posture was stiffer than a board. Something about it brought Jazz an unshakeable sense of déjà vu.

The Polyhexian resisted the urge to grimace upon noticing that the cold mech was also alone.   
He had expected at least Optimus to be here to greet him, so seeing only Prowl was somewhat alarming. Not that he couldn't handle being alone with the Praxian—he may not be fond of the mech, but Jazz was known for his ability to put on a mask. It was more the principle of it that didn't sit right with him. On one servo, Jazz hadn’t seen his friend in several vorns. But on the other servo, the Prime was a busy mech and Jazz couldn't always expect to have his attention just because he was around. He chastised himself for being overly presumptuous before mentally slipping into his more civilian persona. On the Ark he would just be Jazz, the easy going mech who could get along with anyone. Whether Prowl believed it or not was his problem. He was too straight-laced to make a fuss over something like that. 

Regardless, the Prime's absence didn't sit right with Jazz, but he probably had his reasons. 

When the shuttle door slid open Jazz casually sauntered out onto the platform, that sense of déjà vu suddenly stronger as he held out a servo to the Praxian. Jazz caught the irritated flick of wings as Prowl paused briefly before reaching out for a firm shake, pulling back his servo a bit too quickly. Good to know nothing had changed. 

"Long time not see, mech!" Jazz greeted with a grin.

"I suppose it has been." Prowl spoke in that same monotone that had grated on Jazz’s nerves in Iacon. The ‘not long enough’ went unspoken but Jazz thought it might as well hang in the silence that followed. He looked around the bay with an exaggerated movement, almost leaning to look behind Prowl before he spoke again. 

"So where's OP?" 

That had obviously displeased the Praxian if the tug at the corner of his lip plates meant anything. 

"Optimus Prime—" Prowl emphasized the title "—is currently in a meeting. I will be escorting you to his office so that you may wait for him there." Jazz had to give him credit for keeping the irritation out of his field, that neutral demeanor of his never did seem to falter. 

"Uh... huh." Jazz cocked his helm to one side. That sense of offness settled over him once again. That Optimus would want to see him almost immediately after a meeting without Jazz even having a chance to settle into assigned quarters only added to his unease. He tried to shake it off though, feeling those pale blue optics on him. Jazz let the pause hang a little too long before he met Prowl’s gaze. 

"Well, in that case, lead the way," he said with a carefully crafted smile. 

Prowl offered little in return, instead inclining his helm to the entrance of the ship bay before he briskly turned to walk in that direction. A soft “this way,” was added almost as an afterthought over his shoulder as Jazz moved to keep up with him. Jazz couldn't say he was particularly fond of being led along without much explanation, but he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting either. 

They walked in silence, Prowl always a stride ahead of Jazz. The long corridors of the Ark were clean, but the lack of any decor left them feeling almost steril in Jazz’s opinion. Save for the doorways and the halls that split off, it was all very monotonous. It was a far cry from the tall decorative hallways of the base in Iacon. He glanced at Prowl. The Praxian’s optics only focused on what was ahead of him and his movements were brisk and efficient. Those wings of his were still held at the same attention they had been when Jazz had stepped from the shuttle. The rumors of him being a drone really felt logical in that moment, even though Jazz had already been on the receiving end of Prowl’s pettiness enough to know that wasn't the case. 

When Prowl finally reached the door of Optimus’s office, Jazz let out a quiet vent he hadn't realized he’d been holding. The walk hadn't been all that long, but in the heavy silence it had felt like a lifetime. He watched as Prowl scanned the palm of his servo on the door pad, gesturing for Jazz to step inside as it slid open.

Jazz only gave a slight nod as he entered the Prime’s office. 

It was a large office by Jazz’s standards, but the Prime was a fair bit larger than his prewar frame. It felt very... Optimus. The walls were lined with shelves of data pads that stretched up to the ceiling, reminding Jazz subtly of the Iacon Hall of Records. At the center of the room was a large desk with several datapads strewn about it in an order that appeared almost random. An equally large chair sat slightly ajar behind it while two other chairs sat against the wall beside the door. Those were obviously for visitors like himself. 

"You will wait here for him; he shouldn't be much longer." Prowl spoke pointedly as he watched Jazz flop into one of the chairs by the door. Before Jazz could even think of a response, Prowl was exiting the office, likely with other duties to attend to. That the second in command had even taken this much time to merely escort him here was a bit surprising. Surely one would assume the SIC was a busy mech. 

Without Prowl hovering over him, Jazz relaxed into the chair a bit. That uneasy feeling still churned in his tanks, but he couldn't help wonder if he was just being paranoid. It wouldn't have been the first time. There could be any number of reasons why OP was currently busy—he had the weight of the whole war on his shoulders, for pit’s sake. Perhaps his old friend had just wanted to see him sooner rather than later so he’d had Prowl leave Jazz to wait in his office. His intuition still told him that was unlikely, but... Well, he hoped he was just being paranoid. 

As a breem ticked by, Jazz found himself staring at the shelves behind the Prime's desk. He recognized a few of Optimus’s well-loved datapads scattered among the tactical guides and alien encyclopedias, almost as if trying to blend in. Jazz knew they contained some of his friend’s favorite fictional tales that were probably still pulled from the shelves during breaks for a much needed escape. Optimus had always been like that. He worked until he ground himself down and when the stress got to be too much he would seek solitude and the comfort of the written glyph. 

Jazz casually stood up from the chair before striding to a shelf. He pulled a familiar datapad from the stack and turned it over in his servo, a grin tugging at his faceplates as he observed the wear and scratches that adorned its edges. A well-loved object, one would assume. He turned the datapad on and skimmed its contents, an epic battle portrayed in its glyphs. 

“It is impolite to rummage through others’ belongings,” a warm voice spoke. 

A wide smile split Jazz’s face plates as he turned to see Optimus step through the threshold. 

“Old habits die hard, I suppose,” Jazz spoke as he held up the datapad. Optimus gave a tired but genuine smile in return. 

“As I recall,” the large red and blue mech chucked, stepping forward as he plucked the datapad from Jazz’s servos, “this was a gift from a friend many vorns ago.” He turned the pad in his servos fondly before depositing it back in its rightful place on the shelf. 

“Must have been a good friend to hold onto it this long.” Jazz laughed lightheartedly as he made his way back to one of the chairs. Optimus followed suit as he sat heavily in the chair behind his desk. 

“Or perhaps just a good story,” the Prime quipped back. Jazz raised a servo to his chest in a mock display of offence, falling back into the chair somewhat dramatically as if Optimus had shot him. His old friend chuckled.

“But he is also a good friend and I appreciate his arrival to the Ark on such short notice,” Optimus amended placatingly. 

"It’s good to see you too, Optimus." 

"You as well, old friend." There was an edge of exhaustion to his voice but Jazz wouldn't comment on it. The Prime bent down, leaning forward in his chair as he retrieved two energon cubes. The telltale sound of an energon dispenser ringing through the room from below the desk.

"That's a new feature," Jazz said, gesturing to the desk fixture. "You recharge in here too?" The jest in Jazz's voice was obvious and the Prime merely smiled as he filled the two cubes. 

"No, I do not recharge here." Optimus glanced at Jazz in good humor. "This was Prowl and Ratchet's idea, if my memory serves. Something about forgetting to take breaks during the night-cycle, hence the need for this lest I forget to refuel as well." Op had always been a hard worker, so this wasn't exactly surprising. It was more surprising that it was Prowl's idea if he was being honest. 

"Prowl's one to talk—last time we worked together I was convinced he didn't recharge at all," Jazz said smoothly. That also got a chuckle from the Prime.

"Indeed, it would seem a bit hypocritical, wouldn't it?" 

Optimus reached over and handed the cube of energon to Jazz, who accepted it gratefully. Only then did Optimus fully recline into the large chair at his desk, seeming to sag into it. His optics dulled ever so slightly. Jazz took a long sip of his energon, letting a comfortable silence fill the space for a moment. 

"I'm not sure how you put up with him honestly," Jazz spoke eventually. "He drove me up the wall back in Iacon." 

"I can assure you his feelings towards you are much the same." Optimus laughed with what felt like real humor. "He's not the type to have such... strong opinions about other mechs. You must have really made an impression on him. I suppose if anyone was going to get under his plating, I can't say that I'm surprised it's you." 

Jazz responded with a non-committal hum. 

Silence settled between them again, but this time Jazz let it go on for a little too long. He hated cracking straight into business, but he was itching to know why he was here. He shook his helm slightly before finally addressing Optimus again. 

"So ya know I have to ask... As much as I wanna to catch up like old times, why was I summoned to the Ark? It can't just be for a friendly chat." The question was honest and with it he saw Optimus's smile fade. That wasn't a good sign. The large blue and red mech didn't meet his gaze as he thought over his response. He looked tired, as if the question had aged him. When he didn’t respond right away, Jazz couldn't help but pry a little more. 

"And ya know, forget Prowl, when was the last time you recharged? Ya look like ya might power down right here." There was still a hint of humor over the seriousness of the question but it fell somewhat flat. 

"Not for a few cycles," Optimus stated honestly after a few moments, meeting Jazz’s gaze once more. Before Jazz could respond, Optimus cut him off. 

"Leadfoot is dead." 

Whatever words Jazz was gonna say died on his glossa as Optimus's words cut right through him. Had he heard that right? Leadfoot? The ex-wrecker-turned-spec ops head was offline? Jazz sank back into his own chair, breaking optic contact as one servo came to rest over his mouth plates. Jazz usually hid his shock well but he knew Optimus could see right through him. They sat in cold silence as Jazz attempted to process that information. 

“When? ...How?” Jazz finally asked, still not looking at Optimus. His other servo nervously swirling the energon in his cube. The pieces were starting to click into place. The uneasy feeling, the short time frame of his summons, Optimus’s absence. This might even explain why Prowl had been so curt in their encounter. Most of the command team was likely running on little recharge if the TIC had been offlined. 

“It's been less than a deca-cycle and the details are few. All we know is that he went on an undercover mission alone and that he sanctioned it himself. Something went wrong and we lost contact after three cycles.”

“Is that why I’m here, then? To determine what happened? How do you know he's dead?” Jazz realized his questions were a bit rapid fire but in this moment it hardly mattered to him. 

“No, Jazz, that is not why you're here. Mirage has already confirmed his status as deceased. He insisted he fill you in on the details himself.” 

It took a long moment for Jazz to respond but he looked up at Optimus before glancing back down to stare at his energon. 

“That figures...” He kept fidgeting with his glass. “Then why am I here?” it was phrased like a question, but it felt more like a demand. Optimus was dancing around something; not hiding it, but not being forthcoming either. The larger mech gave a deep sigh, and in that moment Jazz could see some of the old Orion in his optics. That was the same expression the data clerk used to make when faced with a hard decision. 

“You have been summoned because we need someone to fill the position of the head of Special Operations as well as TIC. You know as well as I do that you're the only one qualified for the job.” 

Jazz stiffened. The words felt like ice running through his lines as he went eerily still. He looked at Optimus with wide optics. Even with his visor, his shock was evident. He stood up from his chair, striding the few steps forward so that he could place his servos on the edge of the Prime’s desk. 

“No.” He said, his expression hardening as he fought to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Jazz—”

“No, OP, I never wanted that position. I belong in the field, not behind the desk on the Ark. Give the job to Mirage, he's better at that administrative stuff anyway.”

Optimus let out an ex-vent. 

“Mirage was the first mech to put your name in, Jazz, and I agree with him. No one knows how that division runs better than you. I have already discussed it with the rest of the command team and they have agreed with this decision.” Optimus looked down at Jazz firmly but not without sympathy. He was speaking again before Jazz could cut in.

“I am well aware you never wanted this position and I will not force it upon you. I only ask, as your friend, that you consider it despite your past refusals. For the sake of the cause, if not for me.” 

“You can't tell me Prowl was okay with this decision.” Jazz fought to keep his tone non-accusatory. 

“Oh, believe me, old friend, he certainly made a case against you. He was overruled, however. Ratchet, Ironhide, and myself have known you much longer. We trust you.”

“I don't want that kind of responsibility on my shoulders…” Jazz was aware his arguments were paper thin. 

“Very few get to choose what fate bestows upon them.” Optimus spoke softly but not unkindly. It made Jazz feel like a chastised new spark when he spoke like that. 

“All I ask is that you consider it, you will have a few cycles to settle and think it over.” 

They sat in silence once more, Jazz’s stubbornness fighting against him. He knew Optimus was right, he was the most qualified. Meister was their best field agent and he knew the job inside and out. He knew the protocols both on and off the record, he knew every agent and every safehouse and he had hundreds of vorns worth of experience. Pit, he had written half of the missions for Leadfoot. But the fear of failure loomed over him like an acidic rain cloud. When it was just him, just meister, he only had to worry about his actions causing consequences for himself. He could work on a team well enough, too. Sure, he’d almost always gotten his comrades out alive, but to run the whole division? To have every agent's life depend on the decisions he made? He had enough energon on his servos as it was without adding this on top of it. 

“OP, for your sake, I’ll think it over… but I can't guarantee that you’re gonna like my answer when I’m done.” Jazz spoke finally. He felt exhausted by this conversation.

\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---

Jazz typed his code into the keypad to Leadfoot’s office. Optimus had suggested this was where he should go next and he had a feeling why. The room appeared empty and looked relatively unchanged since the last time he had set pede there. The desk was cluttered with miscellaneous objects and a few stacks of datapads that were collecting dust. Leadfoot had had a soft spot for souvenirs much like Jazz, which accounted for the several odd objects around the room. The back wall was covered from floor to ceiling in locked filing cabinets that remained unopened with only a lone shelf in the corner to hold non-classifieds. Jazz turned on the light and closed the door behind him, looking directly at an empty corner of the room. 

“It’s rude to stare,” a familiar disembodied voice greeted him after a long pause.

“Says the mech who was sitting cloaked in the dark for pit knows how long.” Jazz responded in something that almost sounded like a joking manner. He was still reining in his emotions from the bomb Optimus had dropped on him. He felt on edge in a similar manner to how he felt after a close call on a mission, except now there was no catharsis. Only a looming decision that was oppressive in its presence. 

“Touché. Though I have to admit, it’s always unnerving when you look right at me when I know you shouldn’t be able to see me.” Mirage shimmered into existence, leaning against the wall as he inspected the digits of his servo. 

“Who says I can't see you?” Jazz smirked as he turned to fully face the blue and white mech. Mirage only gave him a dirty look in response. Jazz decided to sit on the edge of Leadfoot’s desk rather than just stand in the middle of the room, awkward as it was to be here. Mirage seemed comfortable to just stay in the corner. 

“It is good to see you. It's been a bit crazy around here,” Mirage said, finally looking at Jazz. The Polyhexian may wear a visor but it always felt like Mirage was looking into his optics anyway. 

“I can't say I like the circumstances much,” Jazz said a bit too bitterly, “but it is good to see you too, Mirage.”

The ex-noble mech gave a small but genuine smile. They had known one another a long time and even if these were less than ideal circumstances, it was always good to see a friend. Especially when the war had already taken countless others. 

“So, Leadfoot,” Jazz sighed, looking at the Mirage for confirmation. 

“Leadfoot indeed,” Mirage sighed along with him as they got straight to it. “He’s offline; I have his tag to prove it.” Mirage spoke as he tossed a small silver chip to Jazz, who caught it midair. The chips had little to no information on them, only serving as a blackbox of sorts. It would store to memory the last breem or so of an agent's life that, If retrieved, could be used by spec ops to determine the cause of deactivation and any other useful information. 

“Has it been processed yet?” Jazz asked, examining the chip in his servo. 

“It has, though unfortunately it's a bit scrambled.” 

Jazz hummed disapprovingly.

“Soundwave?” 

“Most likely.” the Towers mech nodded grimmly. “Soundwave was still on base when I went to confirm the body. Whatever mission Leadfoot was on, he got more than he bargained for.” 

“So we don't know what he was after.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No, we do not. Leadfoot must have internalized the mission statement.” 

“If Soundwave was involved, do we know if there's a breach?” 

“Not a chance. Leadfoots processor was blown to pieces and I would bet Shanix he wiped his files before that.” Mirage spoke in a low tone, the gravity of the statement sitting in the air. 

Jazz only let out a vent of relief. He and Leadfoot had gotten along fine more or less; the gruff ex-wrecker had been a pain in the aft but not unreasonable. He certainly wasn't the reckless type despite his reputation. What could have possibly been so important that he went alone like that? None of this made sense to Jazz but that didn't change the fact that it was real. Nor did it change the fact that he was expected to step up in his absence. 

“Well at least I don't have to call everyone back. We have a few in deep cover and I would hate to pull them out after all that,” Jazz said noncommittally. Mirage only nodded. 

“Are you taking the job then?” This time it was Mirage’s turn to ask a question. Jazz let it hang in the air for a while, not looking at the tower's mech. 

“I haven't decided,” Jazz responded honestly. He didn't miss the look that Mirage gave him though. Looking him up and down in a scrutinizing manner. 

“You want to turn it down,” Mirage said after a pause, turning his full attention on him. 

“Yes, I want to,” Jazz said, still not looking at Mirage. 

“You can’t.” 

“That's my decision to make, not yours.” There was a hint of warning in Jazz’s voice. 

Jazz knew Mirage wasn't angered by his indecision because of a sense of duty. He knew full well it was a position Jazz had never wanted to take even when it was offered to him the first time. The Towers mech was likely more worried that the job would fall to him, or worse, someone unqualified. The decisions made by the head of special operations were not only crucial to the war effort but to every agent they put on the field. He was worried what would happen if Jazz didn't take the job. What could happen to him, or Hound, or Bee if the person in charge was incompetent. 

“Just because I want to doesn't mean I’m going to. Optimus has given me a few cycles to come to a decision,” Jazz sighed. “I told him I would consider it honestly.” 

Mirage was still looking at him, his pale yellow optics pinning him in place. He seemed to be having an internal war with himself before he finally shook his helm. 

“I honestly don't think anyone in special operations would listen to anyone else but you. They trust you. You know how important that is.” Mirage spoke quietly. 

Jazz only nodded. He knew what Mirage was getting at. It was an angle he hadn't quite thought about, but when it was sitting right in front of him, he couldn't exactly ignore it. Would Jazz be able to trust just anyone? Would he even firmly believe in Mirages judgement if it came to that? He didn't know. But whole operations could collapse if the agents did not trust the head. It was something else he would have to take into account when he made his final decision...

The conversation didn't go much further than that. Jazz asked Mirage if he would like to accompany him to the rec room, but the blue and white mech declined. He was staying out of sight until this got sorted out. It was a decision that admittedly made Jazz a bit nervous, but Mirage was always paranoid like that. So he would go alone. There had to be someone in the rec room he recognized and he might as well play up the carefree Jazz persona for a while. Get a feel for the crew in the event he decided to stay. 

\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---

The Ark was large, but with everything split into levels, things always were closer than one thought they were. He heard the rec room before he saw it; the general chatter of mechs had him turning down the sensitivity of his audials before he even stepped through the door. The room wasn't crowded by any means, but there were a fair amount of mechs there—some of whom he recognized and some that he didn’t. He spotted Red Alert in a corner with a large red mech he didn't know and made a mental note to stay away from there. He already had had to deal with Prowl this cycle; he didn't want to deal with Red Alert already. 

Near the energon dispenser, he spotted three more familiar faces. Ones he hadn't seen since his short stint at the Iacon base. The one with doorwings was facing away from him and made a much less imposing silhouette compared to the other Praxian on broad. He called to Smokescreen first as he approached, the blue and red praxian turning to look at him. The look of surprise on his faceplates quickly morphed into a smile as he clapped Jazz on the back in a friendly manner.

“Jazz!” he greeted enthusiastically. “Haven't seen you in a long time!”

“It has been an awful long time hasn't it.” Jazz smiled.

“Well this explains why Prowl was in such a foul mood,” Sunstreaker cut in with a smirk as Sideswipe shook Jazz’s servo. The red twin couldn't help but laugh at the statement. Smokescreen merely rolled his optics as he went to grab Jazz a cube from behind them. 

“I’m sure there are other reasons as well,” he chuckled, “but Jazz’s presence is likely not helping much.” 

Jazz accepted the cube of energon from Smokescreen as he settled into the group. These Three had been some of the only mechs he had gotten along with during his short term in Iacon. Smokescreen had taken him gambleing a few times while the twins had just been easier to get along with. Perhaps it was their pension for mischief or their less refined background but regardless he enjoyed their company. 

“I did see him earlier,” Jazz said, omitting that it had been Prowl who had greeted him at the shuttle bay. These guys didn't need to know how high up on the food chain he was yet. At least not until he made a final decision on his “promotion.” Being greeted by the SIC was likely to raise questions he would rather avoid for the time being. 

“He certainly didn't seem too happy to see me.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised, somethings been stressing him out more than usual recently,” Sideswipe commented. 

“Oh?” It seemed that news of Leadfoot’s death hadn't been made public yet then. 

“Yeah, he’s always got a stick up his aft but he's been more stubborn than usual. It's been nearly impossible for Sides to drag him out of his office for a break these last few cycles.” Sunstreaker cut in again. His tone was disinterested but Jazz caught the undertone of worry. Interesting.

"He'll come out of it," Smokescreen said. "Enough about all that, though. When did you get in, Jazz? Are you stationed on the Ark now?" 

"I just got here but I'm not sure if I'm staying yet," Jazz answered honestly. "I'll know soon enough, I'm sure." The words came easily to him. It was like slipping back into his old life, the easygoing sparked musician act just came naturally to him. He liked to think it was easy because it was who he was before the war, but that seemed to feel less true with each passing cycle. Before he could fall too far down that train of thought, however, he switched tactics. 

“I’m not really interested in talking about work though...” Jazz smiled as he took a sip of his energon. “Actually, I’m more curious about what you deviants have been up to.” He jokingly gestured to the twins. Sideswipes’s optics lit up, telling him all he needed to know about whether there was a prank war going on or not. 

“We keep busy,” Sunstreaker said in a tone that was meant to sound disinterested as he side-eyed Jazz. Smokescreen rolled his optics, but Sideswipe looked more than happy to fill Jazz in. It was a much more entertaining topic to explore than the looming decisions he had to make. 

\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---

Jazz had excused himself after Smokescreen had decided to call it for the night-cycle. It had been good to talk and interact with mechs about things other than his current predicament, but ultimately it had been a rather taxing cycle. The comfort of a berth and the oblivion of recharge beckoned to him.

He followed the long corridors towards the room that he would, unfortunately, be occupying. Mirage had told him he would be staying in Leadfoot’s room, given its current vacancy. Jazz had protested, but Mirage had assured him it had been cleaned out already—all the previous tenant's belongings had been put into storage until they could figure out something to do with them. While sleeping in a dead mech's berth didn't sit well with him, he had little choice in the matter. The Ark was a large ship, but it was also nearly filled to capacity. You took the openings that were offered. 

As he turned down the next hall, a familiar figure came into view. Jazz had to hold back a grimace as he realized the Praxian was standing right across from his door. Just his luck he supposed. The black and white mech seemed to be absently checking a comm message, his back to the door Jazz needed. 

"Prowl," Jazz greeted as he approached. The mech appeared caught off guard, flicking his wings in surprise as Jazz walked towards him. 

"Jazz," Prowl sounded tired as he sighed out the Polyhexian’s designation, watching with careful optics as Jazz stepped up to the door. His wings sagged ever so slightly as realization seemed to dawn on him. "They gave you Leadfoot’s room," he observed. 

"Can't say I want to sleep in a dead mech’s room, but yeah, they did," Jazz said conversationally. Jazz almost thought he saw a bit of humor in Prowl's optics but it was gone before he could say for sure. 

" I suppose that makes us neighbors..." Prowl said gesturing to the door he stood in front of. Jazz watched in dismay as Prowl typed in a code and the door opened. 

"Neighbors..." 

"The command team insisted the head of tactical and the head of spec ops be close to one another given the need for collaboration between our divisions." Prowl sighed in a manner that was less professional than Jazz had ever seen him. "In the event of time-sensitive information, we would both be easy to get a hold of in a timely manner." 

"Which I’d assume is why we’re so close to tactical as well..." 

"Correct." 

That time he swore he saw the Praxian’s lip plates tilt into a small, tired smile. 

"Now if you will excuse me, I have only a few joors to recharge before my next shift," he said as he stepped into his room. Before the door closed, almost as an afterthought, the Praxian turned to say one last thing. 

"Oh, and welcome to the Ark, Jazz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than I expected. I don't have word limits so much as just story parameters I want to meet when I write so I would not expect chapters to usually be over 5000 words. If you made it this far thank you and I appreciate any kudos or comment as they help to keep motivation up for this type of thing <3


	3. Margin Of Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an average day in the life of Prowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I am not dead. I am sick (not with covid thankfully) it is 3 degrees outside, My apartment has no heat, and I am posting this instead of doing an essay for my art history class. really like this chapter tho so I hope yall do too.

Once again he found himself stumbling through a ravaged landscape, the sky a burnt shade of red as Cybertron’s star began to dip below the horizon and the first of its moons ascended.  
He was running through an endless maze of fallen towers and decimated city streets, searching for something; a sound, movement, some small sign of life in what remained. Long, dark shadows cut across the pockmarked landscape as if to emphasize the uprooted infrastructure of a city he once knew. Shadows seemed to close in on him like living creatures with deformed claws and hungry teeth as the light faded. 

The silence was deafening to his audials.

The still air was almost claustrophobic.

His processor was nearly blank as he blindly moved through the destruction, the tactical network in his helm just about fried from overclocking it. Time felt like little more than a suggestion as he aimlessly wandered the graveyard of his home, unsure of how long he had even been out here. His one directive was to locate survivors—the one thing that gave him purpose now. With no city to serve… It mattered little how many he had already pulled from the rubble. No peace would be found if he did not continue on. 

Others had tried to stop him, but there pleas for him to consider his own safety fell on deaf audials. What did he care for his own safety? 

He should have been there when the city was being destroyed. Should have been there to help save as many as possible. The scenarios and statistics plagued him, unable to keep his tacnet from running the hundreds of simulations based on what ifs and if onlys. 

Dust clogged his intakes as it continued to settle, a haze still clinging to the sky long after the bombs had stopped dropping. The winds refused to sweep it from the torn landscape. Occasionally in the shadows and the dust he would see movement, flickering just outside of his field of view, but he knew better than to hope. 

The shadows played tricks.

Still. Silent. Empty. 

The sounds of his own pedsteps were the only thing that told him his audials still functioned until, somewhere in the distance, he swore he heard a call. He snapped his helm towards the direction of the sound that had momentarily shattered the silence, absently triangulating an estimated location before taking off towards it. His steps kicked up more dust as he frantically weaved through the landscape, stumbling over nameless carnage as his processor fought to keep up.

For a moment he believed he got turned around, energon pounding. 

But then he spotted it. 

A shallow hollow hidden in shadow, all but carved into the collapsed remains of a building. Another raspy cry shattered the world around him. He rushed forward on unsteady peds, closing the distance as quickly as he was able to manage. 

"Hello?" he called, his own voice foreign to him. 

A quiet rasp of a vent grated on his audials. 

There was a servo hanging limply from beneath a slab of fallen wall, dull in color and caked with dust. Energon trailed thin lines down its surface to collect in a small pool below. His instincts kicked in and he bent down to prop his shoulder under the base of the slab, his optics shuttering as he made to shift its weight off the other mech.

It's heavy. Solid. 

The struts of his legs burned under the strain, denta grit as he shoved backwards with a heavy ex-vent. 

The wall shifted, sliding back just enough to fall away from the frame below. He sagged forward heavily as relief swept through him. Barely cognizant, he reached out to take the mech’s servo in his, ready to pull them from the debris, only to look up and find hollow optics looking back at him. The frame was grayed and mangled beyond repair, the cracked and broken servos heavy in his own. Its legs crushed beneath even more chunks of concrete. 

A whispered “no” absently fell from his lips.

Servos slick with energon, he desperately tried to pull the body from the debris anyway, its hollow optics pointed to the sky. The red of Cyberton’s dusk glittered off their empty sockets, almost giving the impression of life, yet wrong in every way. It was in that moment that Prowl felt the servos he held in his start to pull against his weight. Tightening around his grip. Pulling, pulling him into the hollow where the shadows waited. 

In shocked horror, he snapped his gaze from where his servos were interlocked to the vibrant red optics which now looked only to him. He tried to let go, to pull away, but it was as if their servos had fused together. The body leaned forward in awkward broken movements as he vainly dug his peds into the ground. The rubble and dust shifted beneath him, causing him to lose his footing, stumbling backward as his weight pulled the body free of the hollow. A resounding snap cracked through the air as one of its legs disconnected at the joint. Its weight crashed into him as they both fell. The world flipping upside down. 

He hit the ground hard, his helm smacking against it and lulling to the side in a painful daze. He was slow to recover, only prompted to online his optics when the weight on top of his frame shifted. The sounds of scraping metal rang in his audials.

The world appeared darker as the star began to sink below the horizon, the shadows steadily stretching across the landscape. Their claw-tipped ends reached out for him, gaining speed. Only as they approached did he notice the sharp edges splitting and morphing. Thousands of greying servos dragging themselves from the dark mass. Reaching out blindly. He scrambled to right himself, but it was already too late.

By the time he had shoved the body off of him, the shadows were nipping at his peds. He wasn't even off the ground when they descended upon him, pulling him to his knees. Thousands of optics watched him struggle as talons tore into his plating, burning red like the optics of the enemy. Condemning him. The need to raise his vocalizer, to call out, thrummed through him. Yet the sounds never came. Only the feeling of suffocating as thousands of servos now dragged him into the dark. Unseen mouths whispered in his audials between the sounds of scrapping metal.

"You should have been here." 

"You failed them."

"You're alone now—"

Prowl awoke violently, snapping into a sitting position with enough force to leave his processor spinning. His ragged intakes were accompanied by the feeling of condensation rolling down his plating. Shapes swam around him as his optics struggled to adjust to the swirling image before him. 

Eventually the familiar forms of his quarters began to materialize as he forced his vents to steady, uncurling the tight grip he had on his berth sheets and staring at a point on the floor with unseeing optics. He feared that if he were to shutter them, he would see those lifeless hollow optics once more.

The sensation of thousands of cold, graying servos still crawled over his plating. Their grayed and mangled frames had burned there visage into his memory banks—

No, that was enough of that. He checked his chronometer; his alarm wasn't supposed to go off for another joor. 

How disappointing.

Regardless, he was unlikely to get anymore recharge, so rather than lay back down, he shifted. Peds met the cold floor of his berthroom. He stretched as he stood upright, flexing his doorwings as he did so in hopes of soothing the ache that had settled at the hinges.The struts of his legs were tense and his knee joints protested as he made his way to his ensuite washracks. 

His room wasn't much to look at. Being second in command afforded him the luxury of a private washracks and a slightly larger space, but that was the extent of it. Its dullness was aided by the fact that he himself kept very few personal effects. A shelf of data pads, a desk, and a small couch were about the only things adorning his living space. Anything of sentimental value had been stashed away. The memories were usually too painful to be reminded of but too precious to dispose. 

And best not to dwell on...

He turned on the spray, stepping in as steam began to cloud the air. He let the feeling melt over him, shuttering his optics as the liquid warmed his plating. He could stand here for joors if that was even remotely practical. Let the heat burn away the feeling of grayed servos gripping at his frame, processor lulled by the rhythmic sound of the solvent spray and joints soothed under the warm liquid. He often found a bit of peace in these small moments. He used them to try and drown out his night terrors and lose himself in thought.

Unfortunately the night terrors were not unusual. They were less frequent as time went on, but no less vivid than when they’d first began. Even now in dark, quiet moments, his processor would find itself plagued by scenarios from the destruction of his home. Hundreds of simulations of what ifs, as if knowing now would make any difference. But that was one of many side effects of having a tactical network built into your processor. Its advantages outweighed those effects, but he was never in as much control as he wanted to be. Things he wished to forget or suppress were not his to pick and choose. He was resigned to that fact. All those questions were unlikely to ever go away, but there was little to be done about it. One may understand their traumas thoroughly and still never be able to fully overcome them. He had accepted that a long time ago. 

When he felt like he had fully rid himself of the remnants of the night cycle’s visions, he reluctantly left the washrack. He judged his appearance in the mirror, twisting slightly to evaluate his finish. Prowl did not consider himself a particularly vain mech, but presentation was important. You were unlikely to catch him sporting anything glossy or flashy—that would just be impractical—but he refused to look unprofessional. He was still second in command, after all. 

When he was satisfied that he looked presentable, having only polished over a few minor scuffs on his plating, it was close to the start of his shift anyway. With little else to do, he might as well get an early start. Prowl grabbed a few datapads off his desk that he had brought back from his last shift before stepping out into the corridor. Somewhere in his helm he could imagine Sideswipe calling him a “workaholic” in a chastising tone. He supposed that was not an inaccurate assessment. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile at the thought of what the red frontliner would think of him right now.

As he turned to walk to tactical, his optics settled on the door on the opposite side of the hall. His gaze lingered for just a klik as he belatedly remembered that not only would he have to work with Jazz again, but he would also now only be in the next room over.

_Great... ___

__Granted, if the last cycle had been any indicator, at least the polyhexian seemed to hold similar reservations. He may be a masterful spy, but it was clear that he disliked Prowl. Whether he was bad at hiding it or just didn’t care if Prowl knew was anyone’s guess. Prowl suspected the latter._ _

__\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---_ _

__Prowl had only gotten to sit at his desk for all of a breem before he received a ping from Optimus requesting his presence. His shift hadn't even technically started yet, not that the esteemed leader of the Autobots wasn't fully aware of his work habits. He had likely assumed that Prowl would already be in his office. He could technically put it off until he was officially on the clock, but he ultimately decided against it, choosing instead to send back a confirmation before he moved to stand. Sighing at the work on his desk before embarking on the short walk to the Primes office._ _

__"Prowl," a warm yet tired voice greeted him as he stepped into the Prime’s office._ _

__"Sir." Prowl dipped his head in greeting, doorwings held high at attention. He generally preferred to stand when addressing Optimus, the larger mech having given up on persuading him otherwise many vorns ago._ _

__"I don't believe your shift has even started yet, are you recharging well enough?" Optimus kept his tone light, but the concern was always evident in his voice. He had hit the nail on the head as per usual. Prowl appreciated his concern, but after working for the mech this long he grew tired of the soft chastising nature of these conversations._ _

__"Well enough," he stated mildly, dismissing the topic all together._ _

__The Prime gave him a knowing look before simply nodding, obviously not convinced but respecting Prowl’s unwillingness to address it. Instead he leaned across his desk, offering a cube to Prowl as he almost always did when they had a conversation this early in the cycle. The larger mech had made that a part of the deal when agreeing to install the energon dispenser in his office. That should the Praxian join him, being equally notorious for forgetting to take care of himself, he was expected to partake as well. Prowl had relented eventually and now, with only a slight show of reluctance, he accepted the cube._ _

__A comfortable silence settled over the room as Prowl took a sip, noting the addition of something sweet, just how he preferred. Optimus must have mixed it after Prowl had sent his confirmation in anticipation of his arrival. A smile almost pulled at his lip plates. He let the silence continue on for a little longer, taking a long sip before he addressed the Autobot leader once more._ _

__"So, what is it you wished to discuss?"_ _

__The Prime chuckled, shaking his helm slightly._ _

__"It's always straight to business with you," he spoke fondly." Could I persuade you to believe that I merely wanted to chat with my second?"_ _

__"I suppose you could, but I find it unlikely." Prowl spoke pointedly, swirling the energon in his cube._ _

__"Perhaps, " the larger mech relented. "But no, you are correct. I have called you here to discuss something I’ve had on my processor. Mostly concerning Jazz’s arrival."_ _

__Prowl actually paused for a moment, looking up at Optimus skeptically. Prowl had thought he’d made his displeasure over the situation very clear when Optimus had made his decision. In fact he had found himself surprisingly outnumbered by the majority of the command team when it had been brought to the table. It had not been until Mirage had made his case that Prowl had eventually changed his mind about the reasoning behind choosing Jazz as Leadfoot’s successor. Though even then, he had tried to persuade Optimus to separate the position of Special Operations and Third in Command._ _

__To no avail, of course._ _

__"I’m not sure if I'm qualified to discuss “Jazz” related concerns. I may be biased."_ _

__"I believe you to be less biased than you think, Prowl," Optimus spoke as he leaned back in his desk chair. Pausing again in a manner Prowl had come to read as the Autobot leader collecting his thoughts._ _

__"I had been hoping, perhaps somewhat naively, that he would agree to my proposal more easily. I should have known better, however..."_ _

__"I see." Prowl narrowed his optics. He knew there was a chance the polyhexian would decline, but even he had predicted that Jazz would be more amiable. "I hadn't realized he had yet to give an answer."_ _

__Optimus nodded solemnly._ _

__"I made my offer and have given him time to consider it. He is reluctant, but I trust that he will see reason.” The larger mech turned his helm, averting his gaze from Prowl’s. “We have been friends for an awfully long time and, much like myself, he has changed a fair amount since the days before the war. He's always had a strong sense of dedication and loyalty which has made him invaluable not only to me, but to the cause and yet, regardless, I should have seen this as a plausible outcome."_ _

__"Who will fill the position should he decline?"_ _

__"I will leave that decision to you; I trust your judgment more than most."_ _

__"But not about Jazz."_ _

__The words were cold but Optimus saw through them. The praxian was perhaps the most efficiently calm and collected mech he had ever known, but he had witnessed firsthand Prowl’s capacity for pettiness. It was almost amusing to the Autobot leader, given he knew the words held no real malice._ _

__"Not in this one particular instance, no," Optimus said with a tinge of humor._ _

__Prowl took another sip of his energon, his free servo crossing to rest on his other arm._ _

__"That will certainly be a task. I would likely have to find two separate mechs for the positions."_ _

__"If that is what you deem best."_ _

__Prowl only responded with a non-committal hum._ _

__"This is the part I wanted your counsel on however... Given the circumstances, I feel I should be here as he makes his decision… Whatever it may be." Optimus was more speaking aloud to himself than to Prowl, contemplative and a bit unsure. It was enough for the implications to dawn on the praxian, however. The gears clicking into place._ _

__"…You want to hold off on visiting the SA411 lunar base." The displeasure in Prowl's voice was obvious. He could see the Prime hesitate at his tone._ _

__"I don't think voyage wise, no. Especially seeing as the command team is still unsettled at the news of Leadfoot’s death."_ _

__"You are scheduled to leave in a mere two cycles."_ _

__"I am aware."_ _

__Prowl let silence voice his displeasure as he looked off to a far corner of the room. Optics narrowing slightly as he tapped his digits idly along his energon cube. A beat that was almost familiar but one the Prime couldn't ever seem to place. These were all telltale signs that Prowl was thinking and running calculations with a speed that Optimus, as sharp as he was, couldn't even dream of._ _

__The SA411 was a lunar base they’d had under construction in this quadrant for quite some time now, strategically chosen for its orbit around a desolate dwarf between two neutral planets that had proven to be less than gracious to the either faction. It was pivotal in streamlining travel through this solar system and establishing a presence here, serving as a checkpoint for autobot ships to stop and refuel. Not to mention that they had already found they could mine it for resources, the basic infrastructure for those developments already being built.If Jazz stalled on his answer, Optimus could miss the shuttle window altogether. While his leader may not think it more than a formality, Prowl considered it essential. It was his job to consider the big picture and while the Prime’s presence would no doubt increase the construction crew’s morale, Prowl could hardly fault him for his reluctance._ _

__There had been many setbacks on this project, some which had been unavoidable and others that could have been prevented had proper protocol been followed. They had personally requested an extra shipment of weapons in light of the last incident: an attack from one of the neutral colonies despite agreements that had been made. That was part of the reason it was necessary to check in on them as the Ark made its way through. It was the only ship on this course with the requested supplies and means of shipment._ _

__Optimus and Ironhide were supposed to be the ones going, but those plans had been made before the news of Leadfoot’s demise. The shuttle that they were meant to take was built for speed, only housing two mechs while the rest of the small space was left for cargo. It was faster than the Ark but small enough to go primarily under the radar. The plan had been to take the shuttle to SA411 to drop off the weapons and examine the base’s progress while the Ark continued on its course to Zeeros, which was the closest planet in the system that was safe enough to land on to carry out some pre-scheduled maintenance. They never kept the Ark in one place for very long, so the shuttle had to keep to a strict schedule so everyone could meet back up before the ship’s departure. Prowl always calculated for a small margin of error, but the time it would take for the shuttle to complete its mission was only about six cycles, the majority of which would be spent travelling to Zeeros._ _

__Prowl shook his head with a sigh, doorwings sagging almost imperceptibly as he brought his gaze back to the Autobot leader. The praxian wasn't a very expressive mech, but Optimus had learned to read the cues when he saw them._ _

__"The margin of error for making the SA411 base trip is very small, Optimus. I can't put it off a few cycles just so you can be here when Jazz makes up his mind."_ _

__"We are hardly under normal circumstances at the moment, can we not schedule another ship to bring them the requested aid?"_ _

__"You're not thinking of the larger picture here. Should they be attacked again, we could lose that base entirely which could have ramifications not only for our ship routes, but for our relations with the neutral hubs in this solar system as well." Prowl made to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I realize this may seem like just another base but it could very well be pivotal in securing a presence here."_ _

__"Surly that is a worst case scenario," Optimus spoke, but Prowl had more or less stopped listening. Given that the trip had to be made by shuttle, taking off as the Ark made for its next destination and rejoining as it paused, the math had to be more or less perfect so that the flagship was not stopped for too long in any one place._ _

__"I could go," Prowl said finally, watching almost amusedly as the Prime’s optics widened. Prowl cut him off before he could object._ _

__"They expect someone from the command team and I'm a more than suitable replacement. I do, in fact, deem this necessary, Optimus. We cannot afford to lose this asset." The praxian’s optics challenged the Prime to disagree._ _

__"Maybe Jazz would even feel more at ease in my absence," he added with the smallest quirk of his lips._ _

__Optimus did not seem amused. His optics narrowed disapprovingly as he looked at his second._ _

__"With the recent loss of my third, I must say I have reservations about letting two of my command team out of my sight, Prowl."_ _

__“Ironhide has no reason to accompany me. He's your bodyguard, not mine. Should you insist I bring one, one of the twins will be more than enough.”_ _

__“Even in light of recent events you think it is wise to leave the safety of the Ark?”_ _

__Prowl took another long sip of his energon, unaffected by the Primes unyielding gaze._ _

__“Fear is not something we can afford to bow to. We lose some of our own every cycle and the best we can do is mitigate the number of losses. This is something that will help in that endeavor.” Prowl looked up, meeting the Primes gaze. “Mirage has confirmed for me that the chances of a leak are incredibly slim. We are currently in neutral territory and my correspondence with this base has been ongoing since its initial construction began. You asked for my counsel and this is my solution.”_ _

__Optimus sat in silence for a long time, staring his second down as he considered the options Prowl presented to him. He didn't like it._ _

__“I find my remaining arguments lacking,” Optimus admitted begrudgingly, "and if you truly deem this a necessary encounter, I have little room to argue if I wish to keep things stable."_ _

__"Then it's settled. I will make the proper arrangements," Prowl spoke with finality. Setting his now empty energon cube on the Primes desk before dismissing himself._ _

__

__\---+*+-----+*+-----+*+---_ _

__

__The first time Sideswipe had met Prowl had not been his best first impression. Sideswipe had stared at his transfer letter in disbelief when he'd received it and, upon reaching Iacon, stormed into Prowls office demanding to know who had approved it. He was a frontliner. Iacon hadn't been the front line yet at that point. Thus he had been convinced his superior had sent him to Iacon to humiliate him, some sort of punishment for his behavior._ _

__Prowl had let him finish his ranting tirade before he had folded his servos over his desk and asked a simple yet exceedingly cold question._ _

__"Are you done?" He had spoken calmly, fixing the red frontliner with a biting look._ _

__Sideswipe had just about busted a fuse before the mech had spoken again, cutting him off before he could start once more._ _

__"I transfered you here. They wanted to send you to Gygax, I deemed that unethical, so I had you assigned here until I can find you a better assignment."_ _

__Sideswipe had looked gobsmacked._ _

__"Unethical how?"_ _

__"I deemed the separation of you and your twin as unethical, period. When both of your transfers crossed my desk, I decided you both would be sent here so I could reassign you together." Prowl stated mildly before going back to one of his data pads._ _

__"Wait, you're bringing Sunny here?!" Sideswipe hadn't been able to hide his elation as he’d placed both servos on Prowl’s desk._ _

__"Yes. His transfer was set a term after yours however. So I suggest you get used to administrative work for the time being. I would hate to have to move you before he gets here."_ _

__Prowl had never ended up sending them to another assignment once Sunstreaker made it to Iacon. Rather, they ended up assigned to Prowl, who moved to the frontline shortly after. They had been sent to a few bases after Prowl got moved to the Ark, but even together, the terror twins had proved to be too much for most mechs and they found themselves resigned under his care once more. From Sideswipe’s perspective, Prowl had done more for him and his brother than just about anyone else. He had reunited them, stuck around when most others had gone, and gotten them out of more scrap than the red frontliner cared to admit. While he doubted the stoic mech would ever say so, he also knew that he genuinely cared. That was more than anyone else had ever done. Even Sunstreaker had taken to him pretty quickly, which was quite rare for his authoritatively defiant sibling. They hadn't even been on the frontlines with the mech for a full deca-cycle before Sunstreaker was knocking helms just for looking at the tactician funny._ _

__On the Ark there was a lot less of that. Given what the mech had done for them, the twins had more or less taken it upon themselves to take care of him too. They were already his unofficial bodyguards most of the time, but Sideswipe liked to think it was a bit more than that. Even now he was walking down the corridor to tactical, a cup of energon in each servo. One of which was slightly sweetened. If left to his own devices, Prowl would work straight through his mid-cycle break and Sideswipe was determined to break that habit (even if it was at the expense of his own break)._ _

__Sides rounded the corner and into tactical, casually making his way up the center path through the rows of desks that made up the department. A few stragglers remained at their terminals, but for the most part the next shift was starting soon so it was primarily empty. Prowl’s office was at the back corner and, as he’d done hundreds of times before, Sideswipe hit the request entry button on the door once before just typing in his code to enter. The door slid open and, somewhat surprisingly, the tactician wasn't alone._ _

__“It’s only for 6 cycles, I expect you’ll be more than capable.”_ _

__“Yes, sir,” a familiar blue and yellow praxian replied, turning to see Sideswipe as he stepped through the doorway._ _

__“That time already, I see.” Smokescreen nodded with a smile at the frontliner before turning back to Prowl, wings held high. “I will take my leave too then and make the necessary preparations.” And with a nod he dismissed himself._ _

__As he slid past Sideswipe, Prowl gave the frontliner a critical look. One that was more tired than displeased._ _

__“We’ve had this conversation before, that code is for emergencies.” It was meant to be scolding but this argument was played out between them. He was more or less resigned to it at this point._ _

__“Well if you stopped locking me out when you wanted to keep working, then I wouldn't have to use it.” Sides moved to hand Prowl his cube, quick to replay his usual snappy retort._ _

__The praxian accepted the cube, looking over the datapad on his desk one last time before shutting down his terminal. Sides stood patiently at the door as the mech stood, stretching as he did so. He rounded the desk and motioned for Sideswipe to lead the way._ _

__“I believe we left the board at your quarters this time.” Prowl spoke idly as he checked his comm for any outstanding messages._ _

__“Yeah, might as well go there anyway. Sunny picked up an extra shift so he won't be there to comment.”_ _

__“That's unusual.”_ _

__“One of Ratchet's ideas after Sunny accidentally knocked over one of his tool trolleys.”_ _

__Prowl only responded with an understanding hum as they made their way to the crew quarters. The twins’ room was much smaller than Prowl’s, equipped with a standard issue bunk and two desks, though it was always glaringly obvious which objects belonged to whom. They may have been twins, but temperament and personality-wise they were quite different from one another. Sunstreaker’s things laid out in clean organized areas while Sideswipe was more inclined to leave things where they landed so to speak. Like the Primes and Protectors board the red frontliner awkwardly shuffled to pull from where it now resided on the floor beside his bunk._ _

__Sideswipe was quick to shove a few things off his desk to make space, handing the board to Prowl before moving to steal Sunny's desk chair. By the time he sat down Prowl had already set the board, Idly sipping at his energon cube. This had become somewhat normal for them, which was odd to think about given how much Sideswipe had had to fight to get the overworked SIC to this point. Even if he always lost the games he considered himself the winner of the “make Prowl take a break” situation._ _

__The first game was quick, Prowl winning in just a little under a breem. Not usual for their first match of the cycle. The games were generally accompanied by comfortable silence while they consumed their energon, something Sideswipe had come to appreciate over time—at least when Sunny wasn't there to backseat game. He supposed that was something else he learned from the Praxian, that not all silence had to be filled. Hence Sides found himself a bit caught off guard when Prowl was the one to start conversation._ _

__“You're getting better.” Prowl spoke as he absently reset the broad._ _

__“Not enough to beat you,” Sides said with a snort, quickly recovering._ _

__“No, but progress is being made.”_ _

__“You could always let me win one of these days,” Sides prodded jokingly. Knowing full well that would not happen._ _

__“That would take the satisfaction out of winning for you.” Prowl lightly shook his helm, already making the first move on the new broad. Sides took a long swig off his cube to somewhat cover for how long he had to consider it. Though Prowl had never chastised him for taking too long on a move before. It was more the principle of it._ _

__“I guess that's true.” Sideswipe spoke after considering it for a moment. “Who knows though, all this “progress” being made, maybe I’ll get you within the next deca-cycle,” he teased, finally making a counter move._ _

__“Doubtful,” Prowl said with a tinge of amusement, swiftly taking one of Sideswipes pieces from the board. “You're getting better but you have a long way to go. Plus I will be absent for a fair amount of the upcoming deca-cycle.”_ _

__That made Sides pause for a moment, servo hovering lamely over the board. The interaction from earlier clicking into his processor._ _

__“Are you going somewhere? Is that what you were discussing with Smokey?” The nickname for Prowl’s second always grated on the tactician; Sides could see it in the way his wings just barely flicked with annoyance._ _

__“Yes, _Smokescreen_ will be taking over tactical for the duration of my absence.”__

____“That still doesn't tell me where you're going.” Sides responded a little more seriously. Prowl gave him an unamused look, the type of face he usually pulled before reminding them he was more or less their boss. Friendly as they may be. To his surprise however the praxian only sighed instead._ _ _ _

____“I will be taking a shuttle to a lunar base in this quadrant. There's business to attend to and, with recent events, the plans have changed rather abruptly.” His tone was even, but Sideswipe thought he sounded a bit tired. “And before you ask, Sunstreaker will be accompanying me this time.”_ _ _ _

____The look on Side's face was somewhere between offended and surprised._ _ _ _

____“What! Why can't we both go?!” Sides all but demanded, forgetting about the game entirely. Fully aware that he sounded rather childish. Prowl looked like he had anticipated that response, barely showing any reaction at all to the outburst._ _ _ _

____“The shuttle only seats two. Moreover there's simply no reason to take both of you.”_ _ _ _

____It was, as always, a logical response. That didnt mean he had to like it though. Sideswipe groaned, pushed something along the lines of “I hate you” across the bond to Sunny. All he got in return was “I’m busy” and a mix of mild confusion and indifference._ _ _ _

____“How long will you be gone?” Sides asked with resignation, still obviously displeased._ _ _ _

____“The trip will take six cycles.”_ _ _ _

____“And when do you leave?”_ _ _ _

____“Two cycles from now," Prowl responded mildly, optics flicking back to the board. "Your move."_ _ _ _

____Sideswipe responded with a non-committal hum, begrudgingly moving one of his pieces into play._ _ _ _

____Prowl took it within the next turn._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannnd that's it for this chapter! lots going on in this one. Hope yall enjoyed it and if you did it would mean a lot to me if you left a comment or kudos, that what keeps me going on these dumb little stories of mine. let me know what you think <3


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